Holding out for a hero
by jawnandsharklock
Summary: John Watson always wanted to be a hero. Sherlock Holmes always needed a hero to believe in.


John Watson is a hero.

He invaded Afghanistan, he is an army doctor, he puts up with a madman and he occasionally offers to sacrifice his own life for others.

(John Watson is not a hero.

He got shot in Afghanistan, he got a psychosomatic limp, he _misses_ the war and the danger, he has trust issues and he has nightmares.)

##

Sherlock Holmes is a psychopath.

He gets off on murders, he loves to catch serial killers, he lives for the thrill of the game, his mind is dangerous and he doesn't have a heart.

(Sherlock Holmes is a self-declared sociopath.

He loves the game and the puzzles, his mind is extraordinary and he does have a heart, he just hasn't found it yet.)

##

When John was seven, his uncle Charlie stayed at their house for an entire summer. Charlie was twenty-two, his blonde hair was cut short and when he stood he stood straight and proud and in every single movement there was bravery and grace in it.

Charlie was a soldier and he had fought for Falkland and he had won and he was a hero.

John's babysitter Jessica Evans came over that summer very, very often.

As long as John can remember, he always wanted to be like Charlie. Tall, smart, strong, brave, _a soldier._

Charlie called him _mate_ and they built a tree house together and Charlie said things like _Hand me the hammer, would you? _And John handed him the hammer and at the end of the day they sat on the grass, watching the sky darkening as night came, trying to count the stars and they ate cinnamon rolls and drink lemonade and John spent the entire summer wishing that Charlie would stay forever.

Charlie left at the first of September and he took John into his arms and when John cried salty tears into Charlie's neck, Charlie gripped him by his arms and pushed him away a little, so he could look him straight in the eyes. "John Hamish Watson", he said and John sniffed. "Be brave, little soldier", Charlie whispered and John nodded, because that's what he was going to do. He was going to be brave.

Just like a soldier.

##

When Sherlock was ten, he had a best friend for exactly one summer.

Samuel was two years older than him and he had just moved in next door and they were inseparable. Not a day went by that the two of them didn't spend together. When it was sunny they'd go outside and just stroll down the streets and sometimes they'd invent funny stories about the people passing by, sometimes they chased each other through front gardens and backyards and sometimes they'd just walk side by side, while the sun was melting the asphalt underneath their feet.

When it rained or when they just didn't feel like going out, they'd sit in Sherlock's father's library and just read. Sometimes, Samuel read to Sherlock and Sherlock listened to Samuel's voice and he could see the stories becoming real.

Then school started again and Sherlock was excited to go back, because now there was going to be someone to protect him, someone whom he could call his friend, someone who would laugh at the bullies. But when he walked past Vincent and Jake and when they shoved him against the lockers, just like they did all throughout the last year, and when he saw Samuel at the end of the hallway and when he thought _There he comes, my friend and he's going to save me_, Samuel just walked away.

They never spoke again. Samuel would call him 'freak', just like the other kids and sometimes Sherlock would catch a glimpse of regret and sorrow in Samuel's eyes but it was never enough for Samuel to be his friend again.

So Sherlock simply stopped believing in heroes.

##

When John Watson comes back from the war they give him the look.

_Oh God, you got shot? I'm so sorry for what happened to you, I'm sure you must be devastated. But you're such a great guy, you're an army doctor, you helped to save lives, you are a hero, John Watson._

What the people don't know is that John Watson has never felt less of a hero than the day he comes back from Afghanistan. There is little poetic or romantic about a battlefield, dust and blood and grass and screams and men dying under his hands.

John remembers Eric, who begged him, _stay with me, stay with me, don't leave me, I don't want to die alone _and he remembers himself running away, because he needed to save his own life. John remembers the many lies he told. _No, it's okay, you're fine, it's just a flesh wound_. John remembers Steven, who got shot for him and he remembers getting shot himself and he doesn't feel heroic. Not even in the slightest way.

##

Sometimes people call Sherlock a freak.

_Freak, outcast, weirdo, what are you doing here, why can't you be normal? You're an alien, you look odd and you're really, really scary. How can you enjoy a murder? How can you have fun on crime scenes?_

What the people don't know is that Sherlock wishes nothing more than to be their hero. Just once. A knight in a shiny armour, on a white horse. But he can't be that savior, that hero because heroes don't exist. He tells himself that he doesn't care and he really doesn't anymore. It's so much easier when you don't.

That is, of course, until he meets John.

##

John is alone.

He is lonely.

He exits and he goes for walks and he buys food and he goes to see his therapist and he tries not to think and he sleeps and he has nightmares and he sits in the dark and he tries to write his blog and he takes a walk and he goes to see his therapist and he exists and he eats and he sleeps and he dreams of Afghanistan and nothing ever happens to him.

That is, of course, until he meets Sherlock.

##

John tells him he's brilliant and he looks at him, as if he were a hero.

Sherlock wants to be the hero for John, and he wants John to be his hero but he remembers the hallways in school and he knows that at some point in time John will be Samuel and he will be walking away and Sherlock won't allow himself to ever go through that again.

So he decides not to care.

(The thing is that it's already too late for him.)

##

Sherlock takes away the loneliness and brings him back to life.

John wants nothing more than to chase criminals down the alleyways with Sherlock together for the rest of his life, because he finally can breathe again and giggles at crime scenes and his heart is beating wildly in his chest, but he knows that at some point in time Sherlock will get bored and John remembers the time after he came back from Afghanistan and he knows that if he leaves this war, he might not survive it.

So he decides to leave as soon as he can, to spare himself the pain.

(The thing is that it's already too late for him, too)

##

"There are lives at stake, Sherlock! Actual human lives! Just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

"No."

"Then I continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?"

"Yes. Very."

"…"

"I've disappointed you."

"Yes. Yes that's a good deduction, yes."

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.

##

The pool.

Sherlock feels his throat go dry, when he sees John. There it is. The moment he waited for. John is Samuel and he betrayed him in the worst way possible and Sherlock hates himself for the feeling of disappointment and _heartbreak._

But then, Moriarty turns up and John risks his life to save Sherlock's and for a second Sherlock is just too dazed to realize what is actually going on here. John looks at him _Go, go, run, run as fast as you can, I'm here and I'll deal with it, I'm going to save you._

And Sherlock looks back and he thinks _I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you behind _and he feels his heart growing wide in his chest, so wide his chest nearly explodes, so wide that he nearly chokes on it, when he thanks John.

##

John is back an Afghanistan.

Only this time, Afghanistan is a swimming pool and it's not hot but cold and instead of beige and white the colors are icy blue and watery. Sherlock stares at him and Moriarty chuckles and there are red dots dancing across Sherlock's chest and forehead and then there is blood running down Sherlock's face and his white shirt drenching in it and John screams but there is no sound leaving his throat and-

-and then there is a pair of arms holding him close and whispered wordsat his ear. "Shhh…it's okay now. It's okay." And John clings on Sherlock and he silently sobs into the blue dressing gown and Sherlock just holds him, holds him forever until they both fall asleep.

##

It's a bright Tuesday morning.

The sun shines through the kitchen windows and the dust dances in the air. When Sherlock pads into the kitchen, John is already there, making tea and when he turns around and when he smiles at Sherlock and when he doesn't say anything at all, just smilessmilessmilessmiles Sherlock feels a little pang and suddenly he knows.

Two steps.

Cupping his face.

A soft kiss on wonderfulwonderful lips.

His heart bursting through his chest, though his throat, through his brain, through his world, his universe, through everything he used to know; his heart is beating loud and fast and when John grabs him by his shirt and returns the kiss, Sherlock explodes.

"I'm not a hero, John", is what he murmurs against John's skin.

"That's okay", whispers John and pulls him in for another kiss. "I'm not either."


End file.
